


Let Me

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Caretaking, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:12:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: Bull is the worst patientever.(Originally posted on Tumblr a couple years ago)





	Let Me

Cullen is frowning at him, a deep furrow between his brows that Bull hates, mainly because he knows he’s the cause of it. The last thing he wants is for Cullen to worry about him, not when the Inquisition already provides so many better things for him to fret over. Bull is supposed to ease his mind, not add to his burdens.

“I’m fine,” Bull says. Or tries to say, but the tickle in his throat becomes a cough. That cough is followed by another, and another, until he feels like he’s choking on his own lungs. Sweat is beading his forehead before he can get it under control, and his ribs ache from the strain. “I’m fine,” he says again, and it sounds almost right, despite the burning in his throat.

The look Cullen gives him has moved past skeptical and into outright disbelief. “You don’t look fine.”

“Just a cough,” Bull says dismissively. “Must have kicked up some dust in the practice ring.”

“Right,” Cullen says, folding his arms over his chest. “Dust. Of course.”

“Dust,” Bull says firmly. He makes a grab for Cullen, who sidesteps it easily, and as much as Bull wants to distract him from his current thoughts, it’s too much effort to try again. Which is a bad sign all on its own, since the promise of Cullen’s body naked against his is usually motivation enough to push him through most anything. Including a cracked rib once, though Cullen was furious with him later for that. It’s not that the pain is particularly bad tonight-–the ache in his chest and joints is nothing compared to dragon fire–-just that he’s so very  _tired_.

“Let me try again,” Cullen says. “You look like shit.”

“I love you, too, kadan,” Bull says, and at least that gets him a smile.

A smile that disappears almost as quickly as it arrived. “You look like shit, and you should be in bed, not wandering half-dressed through Skyhold.”

“Hey,” Bull objects. “I’m as dressed as I ever am.”

“I know,” Cullen says scathingly. “And how you don’t freeze is a mystery even to me. It’s a wonder you haven’t gotten sick before now.”

“I’m not sick!”

Cullen gives him another look, flatly disbelieving. “You’re sick. Maker’s breath, quit arguing with me about it and go to bed.”

Bull draws in a deep breath to tell Cullen exactly what he thinks of him  _and_  his Maker, but that proves to be a tactical error. The cold air hits his lungs and sparks a round of deep, hacking coughs that leave him bent over and gagging. Even once the coughing has passed, he doesn’t straighten immediately, keeping his hands braced on his knees while he takes slow, shallow breaths. Sipping the air rather than gulping it, even though he’s dizzy with the need for more.

“That’s it,” Cullen says. “Bed. Now.”

There has to be an obscene joke in there somewhere, but Bull can’t think of it right now. “I’m fine,” he tries one last time, hating his body’s weakness, hating that Cullen is wasting time worrying about him.

“For fuck’s sake,” Cullen mutters. His hands on Bull’s horns are a shock, pulling him far enough upright to bring them eye to eye. “Go. To. Bed.”

It’s the voice he uses on his soldiers, and the one he only ever uses on Bull when they’re both naked and Bull’s hands are locked behind his back. It bypasses all rational thought, running down paths carved by the tamassrans before he was Hissrad, and long before he was the Iron Bull. He’s turning toward the bed before he even knows he’s moving, and that should terrify him, except that fear, like everything else, requires too much effort.

Cullen leaves him, then, his boots hitting the floor harder than normal, the door closing with unnecessary force. Bull pauses, considers ignoring the order Cullen is no longer around to enforce, then decides he doesn’t care enough to deviate from his current course.

It takes forever to get his boots off, and even longer to shed his pants and crawl between the blankets. He’s shivering now, and it really shouldn’t be possible to shiver and sweat at the same time. Lying on his back restarts the coughing, if weakly, but it’s not like he can lay down in any other position, and he can’t pull the blankets around himself if he’s sitting.

He wants Cullen back, and he hates himself for that, too. He’s supposed to be the strong one, not a parasite stealing away someone else’s strength. Cullen has a hundred other duties to attend to, and Bull won’t be responsible for him forsaking those.

His door bangs open again, hard enough to bounce off the wall, and instinct has him flailing upright, reaching for a weapon.

“Stop it,” Cullen says briskly, and Bull focuses on him with a little effort. He’s carrying a pair of mugs in one hand, steam rising from both as he swings the door shut behind himself.

Bull starts to slump back to the bed, then stops when Cullen shakes his head. “I don’t suppose you have more pillows?”

“Pillows?” Bull asks, confused.

“Of course not,” Cullen mutters as he sets both mugs down on the table beside the bed. To Bull’s further confusion, he shrugs out of his coat and rolls it into a ball, stuffing it between Bull and the headboard. Only when he adds the room’s two flat pillows to the stack does Bull realize what he’s doing, just as Cullen eases him back so he’s lying propped up. It’s a little uncomfortable, but at least he no longer feels like he’s about to start coughing again.

“There,” Cullen says, satisfied. Bull is anything but, especially when he sees Cullen shiver, now that he’s coatless in the chill air, and his dissatisfaction only grows as Cullen arranges the blankets to cover him to the neck.

Bull fights back against that, freeing his arms to reach for one of the mugs, determined to do this part himself. He’ll drink whatever Cullen’s brought, and prove that he’s fine, and Cullen can return to whatever he should be doing.

It doesn’t work out quite like that. His hands are shaking so badly that he needs Cullen’s help to hold the mug, and this time, it’s self-loathing that chokes him rather than another coughing fit. Weak and useless. This isn’t his role, and while he may be Tal-Vashoth, that doesn’t mean he’s forsaken everything he learned under the Qun. His role is to protect, not to lie here and allow someone else to do things he’s capable of doing if he would just exert himself a little more.

“I’m fine,” he tells Cullen again, trying unsuccessfully to wrestle the mug away and only succeeding in pouring hot soup on the blankets. “You have soldiers to train, or papers to sort through, or…something. You don’t need to be worrying about me.”

Cullen gives him a long, considering look, then he lets go of the mug with one hand to touch the top of Bull’s head, tracing the ridges where his horns meet. “Stop fighting me,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, just this once.”

“You have other-”

“Not tonight,” Cullen interrupts. His expression dares Bull to challenge him on what’s almost certainly a lie. “There’s nothing else I need to do tonight. So be quiet, and drink your soup.”

Bull wants to smile, but his body feels too heavy, dragged down by the sickness and by his own sense of failure.

His eye closed when he wasn’t paying attention, so Cullen’s mouth against his comes as a surprise. Cullen’s lips are warm and dry, chapped from the wind, rough as they cross Bull’s cheek to his ear so Cullen can whisper, like he’s telling Bull a secret, “I need you to get better. Otherwise, who’s going to take care of me in a few days, when I’m the one coughing my throat raw?” He kisses Bull’s jaw, right in front of his ear, and says again, “I need you.”

Then he leans back and puts the mug against Bull’s lips. “Drink.”

And Bull drinks.

**Author's Note:**

> [on Tumblr](https://dragonflies-and-katydids.tumblr.com/post/131720564577/random-ficlet)


End file.
